all the lights are changing
by irnan
Summary: It wasn't just the loss of his sight that had unbalanced him, however temporary it had been: it was feeling like he'd died at Bespin and the others had all moved on without him.


_this is a disclaimer._

_**AN:** Serves a dual purpose of standalone and a tie-in to "just try not to worry" (the second section in particular).  
_

**all the lights are changing**

At some point during the night, Leia must have slipped out, because when Han woke up the morning after the most important battle of their lives with the most horrendous hangover of his life, she was curled against his right side instead of his left, and Luke was sprawled on a pallet next to them, loose-limbed and dead to the world.

_So it turns out Leia and I are twins_, he'd said yesterday at the fires, not knowing yet whether Leia had said anything, and already Han was alternating between berating himself for all that wasted jealousy and thinking how surprisingly easy it was, so soon after hearing the truth, to refer to them as that: the Skywalker twins.

Luke's eyes opened while Han was looking at him, Jedi-pilot senses instantly alert; then, when he realised none of them were in any danger just now and would probably not be again for some time yet, he relaxed a little, and of course that was when the hangover caught up to him.

He groaned soundlessly and closed his eyes again.

Han chuckled. Leia shifted in his embrace, but she didn't wake.

"Sleep well, Princeling?"

"Leia's still the only royalty in this family," Luke muttered. "Mind telling me why you're so cheerful?"

Han looked up at the thatched ceiling with a sigh. Leia was a warm weight against him, head pillowed on his shoulder – how she'd managed to wrap his arm around her when she'd come back to bed last night without waking him was anybody's guess – the sunlight was slanting dimly through the gaps in the roof, and outside the camp was obviously stirring; someone staggered past their hut in heavy boots, there was a yelp soon followed by a hearty laugh, he thought he could smell woodsmoke and meat cooking.

The pallets were kriffin' uncomfortable, though.

"We won," he said at last, and didn't need to turn his head to see Luke's smile.

"Yeah, we did."

They'd done this before, Han thought: hidden away together on the _Falcon_ after Yavin, talking in hushed voices as if loud noises would scare away their victory entirely, eating and drinking and playing Sabacc, teaching Leia tavern songs (she'd known a fair few already, somewhat to Han and Luke's surprise, although, as Luke had pointed out, they probably should have suspected it of her), as Luke stumbled his way through becoming Rogue Leader and Leia made the first few tentative steps towards healing the wounds dealt her on Death Star and Han began, reluctantly, in spite of himself, in the face of everything he considered to be evidence to the contrary, to _believe_ again.

"We've done this before," Han said. He hadn't really meant to say it out loud; it just slipped out.

Luke stayed silent, but Han knew he was awake.

"We've done this before," he repeated. "I thought – after the carbonite, when I realised how much time I'd lost..."

Luke shifted, and now Han did turn to look at him, and he was smiling again.

"Well, I don't know how to break the bad news to you, Solo," he said, "but we've done this before."

Han snorted, thinking if he were less hung over – less exhausted – if Leia weren't sleeping on top of him – he'd reach over and thump the kid for that, no doubt provoking a brawl.

"Nothing's changed," he said.

Luke paused. "Some things are different."

"Details," Han said dismissively.

"Wait till you hear them all before you decide that."

Was that genuine bitterness? Han frowned. Luke had refused, last night, to talk about what had happened on the Death Star except to say that Vader and the Emperor had both died even before Lando and Wedge had blown the thing to Hell, but there was the matter of those missing hours between him getting off the station and him turning up at the Ewok village, just as there was the question of how he'd managed to come in Vader's personal shuttle and why the hell he'd felt the need to go up there in the first place.

Put together with all the other little things, like Vader's flat determination to find him and bring him in alive rather than dead and the fact that Luke was Anakin Skywalker's son...

_Which one are you gonna be? Kenobi or Skywalker?_

Something in Han eased suddenly: a knot coming undone, a choice finally made, now irrevocable and absolute. He'd believed he'd made it earlier, before the battle, but there had still been one last little puzzle piece missing.

He thought he was beginning to see a glimmer of what that puzzle piece was.

He shrugged as best he could with the shoulder Leia wasn't lying on.

"When have you ever known me make the sensible decision?"

Luke still hesitated for a second too long, and Han felt gutted that the kid had learned distrust and wariness so completely in just under a year, but then he sighed, long and low, and said, "Never, I guess," and there was weary acceptance and gratitude in his voice.

"Go back to sleep, Luke. You need it."

"Hmm. Hey, later on, remind me to give you the speech about not hurting my little sister and all the things I now know how to do with a lightsabre, OK?"

Han couldn't help himself: he snickered. Beside him, Luke replayed his own words in his head and snorted, too, his amusement setting off Han's all over again, and within seconds they were both red-faced and gasping with the effort of keeping quiet. Luke rolled over and hid his face in the bedding, shoulders shaking, and Han bit his knuckles and tried not to shake too much himself so that Leia wouldn't wake and pretended that he couldn't tell Luke was crying with the relief of it.

But Leia had in fact woken up sometime during their hysterical fit, because now she climbed over Han's legs and put her hand on her brother's back between his shoulder blades and then, when he didn't stop or even look up, she leaned over and wound her arms around his shoulders, hiding her face into the side of his neck. Han sat by them silently, one knee pressed against Leia's hip, and waited for the kid – for Luke – for his brother to get it all out, to find his balance again.

He looked up when Chewie poked his head into their hut, demanding to know if anyone wanted breakfast or if they all intended to starve – but what was wrong with the cub?

"Nothing," Han said, surprised to find his voice was hoarse, and wiped a hand over his wet face. "Nothing, pal, we're all good here."

Leia reached out wordlessly and laced her fingers with his, never loosening her hold on her twin.


End file.
